Chapter 29 #2
Gretchen and I share a bemused look as we eye the plates set in front of us. Fully intact leaves of romaine lettuce lie garnished with a singular giant shaving of parmesan. Caesar dressing adorns the plate in some sort of broad-stroked drizzle effect.
“Note to self,” she says, “serve human food at my wedding.”
“Heard that. This weekend is too fancy for me.”
She backhands me on the bicep. “Oh my God, right? I swear, when I get married I just wanna get engaged and pull together an impromptu wedding like the next day. I don’t want all this fuss. Just family and good food, you know? We can grill burgers and hot dogs for all I care.”
An image pops unbidden into my mind: us, our families, my parents’ beach house, Dad on the grill, Mom’s potato salad. The thought propels my heart into a steady thump, thump, thump that says…
*thump… it’s her.
*thump… she’s the one.
*thump… don’t let her go.
“Sounds way better than eating a salad by hand,” I say, biting into the salad sandwich I’ve concocted by stacking the romaine leaves, parmesan wedged between them. I really thought I’d nailed this plan.
I did not.
Caesar dressing drenches my fingertips, running down the side of my hand.
I drop the lettuce to the plate, cautiously eyeing the guests around us.
I lick my fingers clean like a kid who’s dipped his fingers in a honey pot, not the twenty-five-year-old man wearing a four-hundred-dollar suit that I am.
Gretchen’s shoulders bounce with quiet laughter, her napkin held to her mouth as a shield.
I nudge my knee against hers. “It felt like such a good idea.”
“I sometimes have the feeling I can do crystal meth,” she says. My napkin covers my mouth now, hiding my own laugh. “But then I think…”
“Mmmm…better not,” we finish in unison, mimicking Fat Amy’s intonation to a t.
Our entrees arrive several minutes later. If I didn’t need both my hands to eat, I might have the courage to reach under the table and hold hers. As it stands, her knee against mine remains a steady point of contact that neither of us retreat from.
“When do you head back to New York?” I ask.
“I have to leave on Monday to give myself enough time to get settled back into my apartment before classes start. Oh, that reminds me. I really want to go to that book collector’s shop you told me about before I head back to Bloomington on Sunday afternoon. Can you send me the address?”
I smile. Gene has been a family friend since before my brothers and I were born.
He’s the one who helped me pick out Gretchen’s gift for her tenth birthday.
I’ve told her about his little shop in Chicago multiple times over the past year and there’s nothing I’d love more than to see her beam with joy at the gems she’s sure to find as she roams the narrow aisles.
“How about I go with you?” I ask.
Gretchen meets my gaze.
“Sunday,” I continue, “after the send-off brunch, we can go together. Sound good?”
She offers a shy nod, bottom lip tucked between her teeth. God, I want to kiss her.
“Great.” My eyes dip to her mouth. “It’s a date then.”
Her gaze pulls away, but that little grin remains as she works her knife through the meat on her plate. Quietly, she says, “It’s a date,” before sweeping a bite of chicken off the end of her fork. Yeah, I’m crazy about this sinfully sweet, shy, stunning girl.
I slice into the steak on my plate. “Is anyone going with you to help you get moved back into your apartment?” I’m ready to offer up myself for the task.
“My dad’s coming.”
I try not to let the disappointment show on my face.
“I’ll be back at Thanksgiving though,” she adds.
“Is that right?”
“Mmhmm. Mom and Dad are going on a cruise, so I’ll be spending the break with Drew and Reagan.” Our eyes meet again, identical smirks in place. “Where do you plan to spend Thanksgiving?”
I cut into my steak again. “Well, I have a few offers I’m considering. I don’t want to commit too soon, gotta keep my options open.”
“Obviously.”
“But Thanksgiving at Drew’s is definitely the front-runner.” It’s the only option. He already invited me and I’ve already accepted.
She smiles from behind her Diet Coke. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”
I smile from behind my water. “Maybe you will.”
The open flirtation, the body language, making plans to see each other, knees pressed together—all of it compels me to make my intentions clear.
I chance a quick glance around to make sure no brothers are murderously glaring my direction before I lean into her ear.
“Will you save a dance for me tomorrow, Gretch?”
She backs away and I don’t miss the blush spreading over her cheeks before she turns serious.
“I don’t know,” she says, “You might have to get in line behind the many other suitors who’ll be vying to fill my dance card.
” The tinge of sarcasm in her voice strikes a nerve.
She honestly doesn’t know how beautiful she is.
I know for certain that every unattached guy (Mav being suspect number one) and probably some of the attached ones, will be looking for an opportunity to shoot their shot with her.
It’s not the best segue, but something in me wants to claim her as mine before the chaos of tomorrow hits. We’d need to keep it quiet to avoid any drama with Drew before I have the opportunity to talk to him, but I don’t want to wait to tell her how I feel.
With one final swig of water to settle my nerves, I shift my body to face her better.
She turns to match me and our little conversation bubble becomes a cocoon.
We lean in closer. Under the table, I extend my pinky finger toward hers.
Her pinky reaches back, tiny hooks linked together in a silent promise.
The smallest, most innocent point of contact, yet it feels like the beginning of…
something. Not something. Everything. S omething implies you don’t know how things will work out.
But everything feels like a question you already know the answer to.
“Gretch, do you think we could?—”
Clinking glass pierces the air and all heads turn toward the sound. Paul Fisher rises from his seat. “I’d like to make a toast.”
Parents, grandparents and a few close friends take turns toasting the happy couple for the next forty-five minutes. When Paul and Kelly finally declare an end to the evening, I try to pull Gretchen aside among the fray of dispersing guests to finish our conversation, but Kelly gets to her first.
Gretchen’s mom leads her one direction as Drew grabs my arm and pulls me in the other. “Dude, I need to talk to you.” His curt tone puts me on edge. Maybe I wasn’t careful enough and he saw something he wasn’t meant to see from the other end of the table .
Drew tucks us into a dark corner and says, “I need you to keep the guys away from Gretch.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh come on, you know. All the guys coming in tomorrow. And Mav? He just asked me if Gretch was single.”
The nervous tremor returns. I drag my hand around the back of my neck to hide it when all I really want to do is loosen this tie that suddenly feels like a noose.
I keep my voice casual despite everything inside me screaming otherwise when I say, “Don’t you think you might be going a bit overboard? She’s not a kid anymore.”
“Like hell she is,” he seethes. “She may be legally an adult, but name one guy coming tomorrow who’s looking for anything more than a one-night-stand?”
Me.
As far as Drew knows, he’s not wrong. But he of all people should understand that guys like us can change when the right girl comes along. Reagan was that person for him. Gretchen is mine.
“So you think Reagan’s brothers never should have given you a chance?” I spew, but my hackles rise by the second.
He guffaws through a surly laugh. “Okay, so you’re saying I should let Maverick Mr. Right Tonight Jones make a pass at my sister?”
God , that old nickname makes my skin crawl. I’d put Mav six feet under before I let him lay a hand on her.
“And by the way,” he continues, “me with Reagan’s brothers is totally different. They didn’t know me before her. But Mav and all these other guys we went to school with…” He shakes his head in disgust. “I’ve seen too much, man.”
I clench my jaw, the lump of regret lodged in my throat cutting off my ability to speak.
He’s seen too much.
He’s seen too much of me .
He’s seen too much of me before her .
“Promise me you’ll keep the guys away from her,” he commands, tone final.
Defenseless and exposed, I agree—another promise made. He claps me on the shoulder on his way out, leaving me to stand in the carnage of all my sky-high hopes that have just plummetted to the ground.
When I step inside my apartment, the emptiness is all-consuming.
She’s never been here, yet it feels like she moved out—like pieces of her that used to be here are now missing.
But you can’t miss something that was never yours to begin with.
Even if I could convince Drew that I’m ready to change—that I’ve already changed—he would never test that theory on his little sister.
Every stolen glance, passing touch, whispered promise between us tonight—I have to take them all back.
If there’s one thing tonight has taught me, besides my best friend’s lack of faith in his friends, it’s that I can’t just up and quit Gretchen.
That girl is woven into the fabric of who I am—who I want to be.
The only way I can look out for her and let go of the fool’s hope that she could be mine is to put distance between us.
Distance and distraction. Only one idea comes to mind as to how to go about this and it makes me sick to even consider it. But what choice do I have?
Even as I type out the text, I tell myself this is wrong, don’t do it. The response is nearly instant and it sickens me, but what’s done is done. Gretchen will hate me, but I guarantee it won’t be as much as I hate myself.
The only thing left to do is text Drew.
Me
Can you squeeze an extra seat in at the reception? I’m bringing a date, after all.
Just when I think the pain couldn’t get any worse, my phone pings with Drew’s reply.
Drew
Why am I not surprised?